Chiaroscuro
by Sun Arose
Summary: The art or practice of so arranging the light and dark parts as to produce a harmonious effect. LingFan drabbles, because they need love. ON HIATUS
1. Introduction

**Author's note: **I'm alive, guys! At first I was going to post Royai drabbles, but there are thirteen billion of those online. So I decided to turn to LingFan *adds "LingFan" to Word dictionary*, which has woefully few, and try my hand at that. I haven't written anything for AGES, and I looked through the 100 Themes Challenge lists on DeviantArt the other day. And I made a list, as I am wont to do. I went through all the lists of themes, took some out, added some of my own, and put them all together – so now I have a list of 274 themes. Let's see how far it gets, shall we? To my watchers – I think it's safe to say I'm OFF of Naruto fanfiction. I'm sorry.

I don't own FMA, it belongs to the Cow, and anyone who knows me personally knows how moody this makes me. I think I'll go and kill something now...

...oh, wait. I have to write a story. hehehehe. Enjoy!

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**1. Introduction**

Firm hands on her shoulders, the honeyed scent of perfume and sharper one of metal mixing in her nostrils. It is autumn in Xing, leaves gilded and falling like rain all around her, but her father mutters to step around the leaves, piled as they are on the side of the path. They are there to be beautiful, and the skinny girl being steered around them is there to serve, not to look. Beautiful things are for the wealthy and the free.

The screech and clang of blades near through the trees as they walk. The girl looks up at her parents' impassive faces, biting her lip. She is nervous. Her uncle, the chief of her clan, has selected her for something. Her mother woke her in the early hours of the morning, still not long gone – the sun is not halfway through the sky – and threw a set of clothing at her.

"Lanfan, it's time. Up on your feet and in the front room in three minutes. Go."

She went. The clothes are strange, loose black pants and a rounded black chest plate. They're warrior's clothes, to be sure, but she's never seen this style before. Her family wears brown and deep red, not black. The sash is white, and she hums with irritation when it ties much too easily around her scrawny waist. The ties hang off two feet on each side. She doesn't have time to fix it, however, and races (silently) to where her parents are waiting.

She has been here before. It is the main residence of the Yao family. She has never seen Lady Jing, a former concubine, before, nor her son, Ling, who is Lanfan's age. Her father, though, was once the bodyguard of Lady Jing's sister, who died in childbirth. Her child died as well. He went five days without eating, a self-inflicted punishment for not going in her place. Truly it was absurd, but no one questioned him. There is nothing more shameful than a shield who dies after his mistress.

Now, she steps into the courtyard, a rectangle of stone cleared of leaves. It's barren, unfriendly, a perfect match for faces of the men and women who fill the space, sparring, tumbling, breathing even, eyes hard. A training courtyard.

Lanfan's mother clears her throat, and fluidly, as one, the combatants stop and turn to them. They are dressed as she is, black with white ties. Her mother rests her hand on Lanfan's head, which is ridiculous because she is ten and child has been replaced by warrior. Her cheeks redden all the same.

"This is her."

A woman laughs, a high, bird-like sound, in sharp contrast to the impenetrability of her black eyes and the knives between each of her fingers. "Your daughter? I expected less vanity from you, Yan."

"Nevertheless," Yan shoots back, her hand moving to her daughter's shoulder, "my lady requested the best youth our clan had to offer, and here she is. My father has trained her himself. The others are too young."

"And she isn't?"

Murmurs of doubt swell among the servants. The woman who had spoken places her hands on her hips. There is some noble blood in her veins, and she is obviously familiar with the strength it gives her in debate. She is beautiful, with deep-set eyes and a full mouth. Lanfan thinks privately those eyes should be ringed with kohl, mouth painted red. "That mere child cannot hope to protect our prince, no matter who has trained her. Too much rests on the young master's shoulders. You are a bigger fool than I had thought."

The insult to herself is nothing; at the jab at her mother, Lanfan moves automatically, like water, flying at the woman and striking at her forearm. The hand attached to the arm opens automatically, causing the four knives to fall and clatter on the stone. Her opponent's eyes snap, but she doesn't rise to the bait. Lanfan barely sees her hand move, but before she knows it, the knives on the ground have been replaced with four more. "I know what you're going to say," the woman smiles. Her façade has been lifted, leaving her eyes twinkling. "'You're a bigger fool for insulting my mother in front of me', or something like that, right? Or that I should hang on to my weapons tighter?"

The other servants are smirking. It suddenly dawns on Lanfan that she is being tested, and she has fallen right into the woman's trap. She drops back, suitably mortified, and bows lightly in shame, palms on thighs. "I apologize for my forwardness. It won't hap—"

"It seems I have died and someone has made you lady, Cai," an imperious voice says quietly from behind Lanfan. "Or has the girl mistaken you for me? I can think of no other reason why one servant should bow to another."

Cai looks up instantly, and her eyes are impassive again as she kneels and bows in the traditional way, as do the others in the courtyard. Her mother and father bow as well, and Lanfan goes with them, not realizing who the newcomers are until she lifts her head again.

"Remember your place," Lady Jing snaps quietly to Cai as she passes her. "Where is your mask?" she demands of Lanfan, stopping in front of her. "How old are you? I don't recall seeing you before."

Her father steps forward. "My lady, this is my daughter, Lanfan. You requested a bodyguard for your son. She is well-trained and hardworking, and she will serve you well. She hasn't been given her mask yet. Please accept my apologies for not seeing to that earlier."

"Get it now."

Lanfan is puzzled. Not that she has been selected for such a task, though she has her doubts about her abilities. Her plain brown mask is back at their house – her father told her to leave it behind. Does she require a new one?

Her father draws something out of the bag at his waist and hands it to her. She looks at the mask. The top is white, red under the eyes and black over the mouth. Half of the yin-yang symbol is painted on the forehead. She ties it around the back of her head and clasps her hands behind her back, turning to her mistress again. The mask still smells like paint.

Lady Jing sniffs, but glances at her son, who is standing half-behind her, back turned. "Ling, take your hands out of your pockets and come see your new bodyguard."

The prince turns and steps carefully around his mother's skirts, coming to stand in front of her. Lanfan kneels again, but looks up, startled, when he laughs. "Please don't," he protests. "Aren't you tired of bowing yet?"

"Ling!" his mother hisses. "What are you doing?"

"Mother, please. I _know_ what I'm doing." Ling grins cheerfully at Lanfan, and she blushes, glad for the mask. "Sorry. My mother takes her role too seriously. Or at least that's what I think."

Jing's beautiful face twists into something that would have been called a snarl on the face of someone of lower class, but she steps back, her glare turning instead on her son's hands. They're still in his pockets.

"Since it seems to be the popular opinion that servants can't think for themselves" —he looks back questioningly at his mother— "what do you think – Lanfan?" She nods. "What do you think? Do you want to bow?"

He is slim and two inches taller than her. His eyes are narrow, as is common among the Yao clan; his smooth black hair is ponytailed with a ribbon down his back. He's still smiling, and she's starting to think he'll never do anything but. She likes his smile, but it flusters her – _she's only ten_ – and she just manages to maintain her composure enough to process his question.

The rest of the servants are averting their eyes. Lady Jing stares directly at her, eyes piercing through the mask. Lanfan avoids her gaze. Her parents shift uneasily on either side of her.

No one has ever asked her if she _wants_ to bow before. She squares her shoulders.

"Young master, if you—" She falters, gathers her courage and tries again. "You should not concern yourself with my comfort. I bow because of your status, not because I have the energy to do so. But thank you for your consideration, young master." And she bows, hating herself for no apparent reason.

Ling's smile slips just a hair before he laughs suddenly, but his eyes linger on her. "As you wish. Are you happy now, mother?"

The servants breathe a collective sigh of relief. Jing's smile is honeyed but lethal. Lanfan bites her lip hard.

-x-x-x-

It is the first occurrence in the cycle they will eventually fall into. He will recognize her wishes, and she will deny them.

It stings bitterly on her tongue every time she says no.

**

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Author's note:

By the way, if you didn't know, "chiaroscuro" is a way of Italian painting involving using both light colors and shading in a scene. It also means, as so perfectly put it, "_the art or practice of so arranging the light and dark parts as to produce a harmonious effect_." I thought it was oddly appropriate. Let me know what you think.

Reviews equal love. No flames, please. Thanks for reading!

(Oh, and thanks to IvyShort for yelling at me to finish this. I have excuses for not posting earlier, I promise. Are you happy now?)


	2. Love

**Author's note: **New drabble! Sorry for the wait. Kudos to Wind Kunai, ConiferShort, Edelilah and IvyShort for reviewing. You guys are amazing. Thanks for the compliments – they mean a lot to me.

By the way – I've decided that I'll try to upload a new drabble every weekend. That should keep me in shape. I need to go faster!

FMA belongs to Arakawa, blah blah blah...

**2. Love**

Greed doesn't understand. He knows of his host's longing for the girl, free and unadorned. It flows through him every time his eyes fall on her. It's no small wonder that the prince is able to act himself when her mask and armor are off. He can understand that part of it, at least. She's an impressive one, handling Gluttony with the power and skill of one far beyond her years. Otherwise, her timidness only amuses him.

_Why?_ he demands silently as he lies awake by the fireside, waiting for sleep to claim him after a day of Ling's eyes straying to his shadow. _Why that girl? Surely a prince like you can have all the women you want; she's something, but she's not everything. Why waste your time on a little slip like that?_

The prince flinches. _You wouldn't understand._

_Damn right I don't understand, kid. Enlighten me. It's my body, too._

He feels Ling's eyes widen. It's the most Greed's allowed for so far – normally, he likes to make it clear that this is his body and his alone. He's very protective of his property. It comes with the name. _Lanfan is...different. She's not really my servant. I wouldn't hurt her or be mad at her if she disobeyed me, not really._

Greed half-growls. The girl is his property.

_Don't call her property._

He chuckles, then laughs harder, the sound startlingly bleak and detached in the warm night air. _I'll call her whatever I want. Relax. I won't hurt her. I'm just curious is all. Why does it matter?_

_It doesn't, I suppose._ Ling sighs. _I don't get it either. _His façade returning, he places his hand over his heart dramatically. _Can't you find it in you to feel sorry for me and comfort me in my tragic state?_

Greed freezes for a moment before stretching languidly. _Sorry, kid. I'm_ Greed_, remember? I didn't come with pity or sympathy or that whole package. Wasn't made that way._

They lie in a rather uncomfortable silence for the next few moments before Ling laughs abruptly and Greed feels him rub his chin. _You're really not too bad, are you, Greed?_

Completely baffled and rather unnerved, Greed turns on his side – _Ling's_ side – and wishes he would just _fall asleep_ already.

Lady Jing doesn't understand. Her son has never shown any interest in the delicate, regal ladies she's invited to their home; she was beginning to think he just didn't like women, if that was possible. What could his scrawny, stammering shadow offer, what appeal did she hold that they did not?

Ling, of course, denies the attraction in every way, denies that his eyes linger, that his breath catches, that she means far too much to him. The prince and his mother did a rather excellent job of edging around the subject for almost a month after his return from Amestris. He didn't want to think that she might be aware of his feelings, and she didn't want to think that her son – the _emperor's_ son – could be smitten with a commoner. Someday soon, she thought, he would crack. He would forget himself and smile at the girl, touch her hair or her face in front of Lady Jing, and then she would have him where she wanted him.

But he never did. And Jing is the most surprised of all when, two weeks after the emperor names her son as his successor, Ling mentions casually over his last dinner at home that Lanfan will not be coming with him.

Edward doesn't understand. Ling supposes he understands better than the others – they still know each other well, and he's been showing Winry off proudly since they were engaged a year ago, but still, Ed is Ed, and he can be painfully blunt at times. "Why don't you just tell her? I mean," he mutters around a mouthful of food, "it's not like she can refuse you or anything. You're the goddamn _Emperor_ of Xing. I don't see what you've got to worry about."

"I can't just order her, though," Ling counters, setting his chopsticks on top of his bowl and pushing the tray aside. They're sitting on a private balcony on the top floor of the palace, no servants present but for the two bodyguards on the roof and those outside the door. Formalities have been dropped; no one will bother them here. "I mean, that's really the point. Of course I miss her, but I can't force her, it has to be her decision. But it makes me nervous that if I ask she might reject me. Of course, she won't believe me when I tell her it's not an order. Would you stop eating for five seconds?" he adds, amused and slightly irritated. "I feel like all of this is going straight over your head."

Ed stops eating for a moment, but only to glare at him. It's a natural reflex for him to kick into defense mode after someone makes a possibly size-related comment, even though he's as tall as Ling now. Ling grins. The former alchemist resumes eating. "What do you expect me to do? You know Lanfan better than I do. You're just being a coward."

The jab is meant to sting, to goad, but Ling doesn't rise to the bait. "I know that," he admits, rather pathetically (Edward looks up sharply), and lowers his voice. "When you proposed to Winry, weren't you scared stiff and shaking?"

"That's not the—"

"It's exactly the same thing. Just because you couldn't say it straight to her face—"

"Winry _told_—"

"Sure she told me. I think I'm a _bit_ more practiced in these things than you, I think, and if she—"

"Oh, so you know more, but you can't even get up the cour—"

"Excuse me for being a bit nervous when you have to use some silly alchemy slang to—"

Ed growls, turning faintly purple in a way that clashes horribly with his golden hair. "You squinty-eyed bastard—"

A kunai thuds into the doorframe millimeters from Ed's ear, and he freezes, the color quickly leaving his face as he slowly turns to look at the door. Ling doesn't turn until his friend's face goes blank, then he looks staggered and his eyes flicker, conspicuously, to the emperor.

He twists back to look at the door and his heart skips a beat. A young woman is standing there, dressed in a plain red tunic and boots. Her hand is still extended from the throw, and her cheeks redden and lips part, sleek talent turning to awkwardness as his widened eyes fall on her.

"Don't insult Master Ling," Lanfan says softly, and bows clumsily before dashing away.

Her rushed footsteps down the hallway echo painfully in Ling's ears.

Mei doesn't understand at all.

"You're going to _wait_?" she shrieks at her brother as he fiddles with the sash of his tunic, avoiding her gaze. "The woman you love travels fifty miles just to see you, and you're too – you're _stupid_ enough to completely avoid her until your crotchety old councilors have approved your decision? You're even more brainless than I thought you were!"

"She didn't come to see me," Ling protests wearily, crossing the room to sit heavily on the nearest bench. "You heard her. She came to visit family in the capitol. She's just dropping in."

"Untrue!" Mei declares, stabbing a righteous finger in his direction. "She was just making excuses, and you know it! You haven't seen each other for two years! You should have run after her yourself, called every servant – every man and woman in the palace to go find her and bring her back! _Why_ are you just _standing _there?"

"Why are you bugging me about this, Mei? Why do you care?" He rubs his eyes and stares at the corner, feeling lost. "I thought you hated Lanfan."

"That was when she was working for you. Stupid brother." The diminutive princess folds her arms haughtily and turns her head with a sniff. The tiny panda on her shoulder parrots her movements flawlessly. Ling watches, unnerved and amused at the same time. "Besides," she adds after a moment, "this is a noble cause."

"And what would that be?"

Mei's eyes widen theatrically and she clasps her hands. Ling swears he can see little pink sparkles floating around her head. "True love, of course!" she cries with relish, sounding like a child after her first fairy tale instead of a sixteen-year-old noblewoman. "What nobler cause is there in the world? What better time for us to lay aside our differences and unite? What—"

"And here I thought having a boyfriend might shut you up for five seconds." He grins cheekily at her despite his mood. "It's only made you more of a romantic."

She scowls at him. "You're just jealous because I'm happy and you're not. Go get her!" When he doesn't move, she dives at him and attempts to pull him off the seat. "GO!"

"I don't WANT to!" he protests, clinging to the bench.

"You _must_!"

"I DON'T 'must!' Get off me!"

"I WILL NOT!"

"Your Highness?"

They freeze and turn simultaneously towards the door. Ling is hanging halfway off the bench, and has to pull himself up quickly, disgruntled. Mei releases him and steps away with a huff. The servant in the doorway clears his throat awkwardly. "Your former bodyguard is here. She requests an audience with you."

And unfortunately for Ling, he can see from the wicked gleam in his half-sister's eye that there's no way he's getting out of this one.

Lanfan is _bewildered_. She was about to leave when her former master came running down the staircase, shouting her name at the top of his lungs, and skipped the last couple of steps in his haste to get to her, grabbed her hand, and, between gasps of air, tells her how much he's missed her and he loves her and would she _please_ marry him?

She's completely stunned.

But she can feel herself turning a shade of red she hasn't been in two years, and her hand starts to tingle in his, and a smile gathers in the back of her throat until it bursts up and widens on her face. She laughs, elated, amazed, even though somehow, behind the blushing and the stuttering and the not knowing, it turns out she's always known, always expected, and maybe she's been waiting for this for years, even if she hasn't known it. Ling is still clinging to her hand, biting his lip as he waits for her reply. Mei Chang is leaning over the stair rail, grinning, and the servants are trying to hide their smiles.

She understands perfectly.

**Author's note:** Yes, I _know_ the last chapter showed Lanfan behind Ling's throne! Just go with it. Reviews equal love, guys. You know it. I know it. Ling knows it. And yes, I _also_ know that this is too long to qualify as a drabble. It became a oneshot somewhere along the road, okay? AND YES, I know Ling is being OOC. Deal with it. ( Do you know how hard it would have been to put him MORE in character? Seriously?

Reviews equal love, guys. You know it. I know it. Ling knows it.

Written while listening to "Awakening" from the FMA soundtrack, first anime.


	3. Light

**Author's note:** Wheee, new chapter! I AM SO, SO SORRY THIS IS SO LATE. I expected to have it up weeks ago. I know it hasn't been _that_ long, but I didn't meet my own expectations. What kind of author am I?

But I haven't been wasting my time, don't worry. I've been doing lots of research for the new chapter of _Seven Months_, which I have big plans for. (ku ku ku...) So there's that. I had to think of pseudonyms (I love that word) for Ling and Lanfan, and I think I came up with good ones. Probably. SO nervous about this story. _Please_ go read it and tell me what you think, if you haven't already.

Reviewing cookies for Pavalova, ConiferShort, IvyShort for ego-boosting (lol) and especially for edelilah, who is amazing and gives great reviews and just made this lovely piece of art, which she claims was inspired by this story. Now go look at it. .com/art/chiaroscuro-184456340

On with the fanfiction!

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**3. Light**

"Please?"

"No, young master."

"Please?"

"_No_, young master."

"_Pleeease?_"

"NO!" Lanfan silently reprimanded herself. She shouldn't snap at a prince, no matter how much he annoyed her. "I apologize."

They were sitting in the garden three months before they were due to leave for Amestris, trying to cram as much of the language into their minds as they could. Ling turned over on his back and watched her lazily through mischievous eyes. "I forgive you…but only if you'll go get the books."

Argh.

"Young master, I am a bodyguard, not a servant. My job is to protect you, not to wait on you. You forgot the books and if you want them, it is within your power to call a maid or a servant to go get them for you."

"But I don't _want_ to call a servant. I want you to go get them – all right, never mind. I'll go get them myself. But"—he got up and came towards her—"you're coming with me."

"W-what are you doing?" He grinned at her and reached for her waist. She _eep_ed and flushed red. "Let go of me!"

"No." Ling placed his hands securely under her ribs and lifted her, heaving her over his shoulder and grabbing her feet when she instinctively tried to kick him. He laughed under his breath as Lanfan actually squealed and hid her face against his back in humiliation before she realized what she was doing and pulled away, pressing her palms to his shoulder instead, trying to make as little contact as possible.

"Young master!" she gasped, trying to catch her breath. "You shouldn't be doing—"

"Don't you tell me what to do, Lanfan," Ling said firmly, shifting her against his shoulder and rubbing his fingers along her waist as he turned in the direction of the house and began walking. She calmed a startled breath and closed her eyes, mortified and enthralled at the same time. His shoulder felt good somehow against her stomach, solid and warm. "You are just bent on disobeying my orders today, aren't you?"

"I – I –"

"And I refuse to put you down."

Lanfan silently resigned herself to the humiliation of being carried through the hallways past countless people over her master's shoulder. She was wearing her mask anyway, which might not protect her identity, but might conceal her blush.

And, she admitted secretly, there was no other shoulder she'd rather be draped over.

**

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Author's note:

Not my favorite chapter, but more drabble-like than the other two so far. Next is _Seven Months _update.

Written while listening to "Far East Suite ~ Pizzicato" from the FMA Brotherhood soundtrack, which, by the way, is used as Ling's theme. Go listen to it. If you've seen FMAB, you'll recognize it.

Reviews greatly appreciated. Ciao!


	4. White Linen

**Author's note:**

OFF HIATUSSSSS

And I'm just kind of picking randomly from the theme list now. Yeah.

Thank you to everyone who's favorited or watched this story since the last chapter *distributes cookies* Speaking of cookies, IvyShort owes me, like, fifty...

Story's not mine. Nope. Definitely not.

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**4. White Linen**

Lanfan's expectation after she explains things to her family is of a small, quiet burial, nothing that would offend the nobles. They don't have the money for anything more, anyway, but the secondary clans are superstitious and never neglect a death, even if it happened two months ago. And for the most part, she gets what she expected. The wooden deity statues in their clan's training hall are covered, white cloth hung over the door. They have no mirrors to take down. Servants have no time for such vanities.

She wears blue to the ceremony, as do her brothers. Her mother wears black and keeps a hand on the small of Lanfan's back through the formal procedure, until she is called upon to offer her wishes for her father's soul. Lanfan's uncle follows, then his wife.

Then it is her turn. She steps forward quietly and says what they expect to her: I suffer from this loss, may the spirit meet no obstacles on its way to whatever awaits, and when everyone has had their turn, it is her duty as the last person to see her grandfather alive to tell how he lost his life.

She looks around at the rows of silent family, sees herself in them, and yet she has never felt so far from the people she calls kin. Her place is with the one in the coffin in the island of grass there on the hillside, her place is not in this world. She does not deserve to stand unscathed among the living.

Her throat works.

"My grandfather died -" She stops and starts again. "He -"

A bodyguard who has truly done his job well falls serving his master, cut down by a blade meant for the one who he is sworn to. Fuu died to avenge her. Not his prince, but his granddaughter. Not her death, but her arm. One small, agonizingly trivial piece of a small and trivial person.

On the journey home she was all comfort, telling the young lord what he wanted to hear. Everything went as well as could be expected, she assured him when he asked, after Chang had gone to bed every night. We knew nothing would be the same afterward. But she had never had an answer to the question she knew he really meant: _How do _you_ feel about it?_

_How __do you think it went?_

_How would your grandfather feel?_

But of course the young lord was not that cruel. She could not allow herself to think such things, especially not at the burial of her grandfather, who would have punished her severely if he heard her voice these ideas. She winced a little and silently reprimanded herself before stepping forward and beginning the account of her grandfather's death.

* * *

"...Lanfan."

She hadn't known he was still awake, and her feet almost slip on the tree branch she is perched on outside his bedroom. "Yes, young lord?"

"Where is Fuu buried?"

"In our family burial ground, young lord." W_here else would he be buried?_

"I mean, where is that? It's not near ours. I mean, the main family's."

"No, young lord, it is further away. On the other side of our clan facilities."

"Hmm." She doesn't like the sound of that. "How long does it take to get there?"

"On foot?"

"Yes."

"...About an hour?"

"No, I mean how long would it take _us_?"

She smiles a little inside her mask. "Half an hour, young lord."

She likes that "us". The pressure in her throat unwinds a little.

"...Can I visit him?"

"Of course, young lord." She can't say some part of her wasn't expecting this, maybe even anticipating it, and he hasn't let her down. "When would you like to go? I can ask –"

She hears him throw the covers back and the mattress move as his feet move across the floor. She turns, and Ling is leaning out the window, watching her as she shifts a little on her branch in the moonlight, flushing for no reason at all. "Let's go now," he says quietly.

He knows she'll protest, and raises his eyebrows to stop her as she opens her mouth. It's not an order, and he doesn't want to make it one.

Lanfan closes her mouth and jumps, landing deftly and soundlessly on the windowsill next to him. "As you wish," she says softly, half-bowing.

Besides, she wants to go too. Some things can only be said in certain company.

* * *

The hill on which her family's burial ground rests is quiet, cool and breezy in the night. It seems almost as if the summer night winds move the entire rise, not the grasses and trees on it. She inhales deeply, relishing the feel of the air through her nostrils, then feels ashamed for...for breathing. Not everyone is so lucky.

Her grandfather's grave is near the top, along with others who died later in life, on the opposite side from his son-in-law's. Her mother spent the evening sitting at Lanfan's father's grave, speaking so quietly that Lanfan wasn't sure if her lips were moving. At some point in life, everyone in her clan loses everything – their parents, partner, siblings. Her master has taken this well for someone unaccustomed to losing things. Then she thinks about that. Does that mean she is accustomed to it? Is she really?

_There is much I still have to experience_, she tells herself sternly, and looks at her prince, waiting.

Ling's eyes trace Fuu's name on the stone. It occurs to Lanfan suddenly that he might not want her to hear what he has to say, and she backs away awkwardly, careful not to knock into anything.

* * *

Ling clears his throat. He glances back at Lanfan, who stands silently a few meters away, respectfully out of earshot. Her face is covered by her mask, and for once he has no idea what she's thinking or feeling. In fact, he has no idea what he himself feels.

He kneels in front of the headstone. "I think," he begins, clears his throat again, and tries again. "I think I knew – well, I know I knew why you did this. Fuu. I'm sorry. Not that you died – well, of course! How could I not be sorry about that! But, I mean, I'm sorry about Lanfan. Because it was my fault that I couldn't – " He can almost hear the echoes of Greed now._ Coward._ "That I didn't protect her in the first place. And if I had been a good enough master, or leader, or – friend, then you would never have had to sacrifice yourself like you did."

He wonders vaguely if he should be crying. Then he wishes he were. That would give Lanfan an excuse to draw back a little more, and he doesn't really want her to hear what he has to say here. Not yet.

"This is my fault," he breathes, leaning closer, meaning it. "I am so, so sorry. You have no idea. Really. I'm sorry. Nothing I can say –"

His voice breaks. He doesn't sound like himself, and Lanfan swallows behind him and turns her face away. Which is his chance, of course. He has to say it now, while she's worrying.

"You were worried about Lanfan," he tells Fuu. "I know. I'm sorry. I know how much you cared about her and I do too and I can't be you, I can't teach her anything like you did, no one can, I guess, and nobody can teach _me_ as much as you, either. My mother spends thousands of _jin_ on tutors and instructors and people who are supposed to teach me about politics and proper etiquette and things, but I haven't really learned anything. You taught me - you taught _us_ how to read lips and forge identities and conceal weapons and all these things that most people go their whole lives without knowing, and now they're a part of who I am, I have all these bits of knowledge that have saved my life over and over again. Thank you. Thank you. I can't possibly repay you."

Fuu would say there is nothing to be repaid. But there is, and while Ling knows nothing he can do or say will be enough to pay the due he owes, not now, he can try.

"I'll look after her," he whispers. "Don't worry. I promise. I'll look after her. I'll make her happy. I'll do anything. I'm so sorry. Thank you."

His eyes hurt. Not like he's going to cry - _dammit_ - but like they're tired of seeing things that he can't undo. He gets to his feet, not looking at the grave.

"Let's go back," he says, too loudly. Lanfan's eyes follow him. He tries to grin at her reassuringly like he did when they were twelve, but it doesn't feel right anymore.

She swallows and pulls off her mask. "I do not know what you said to him, young lord," she says quietly, "but whatever it is I believe that he would have been grateful to hear it. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Ling tells her, and means it.

* * *

**Author's note: **I know, I know, this seems like it has nothing to do with white or linen. Well, THINK AGAIN. *dramatic music* I realized I hadn't written anything Fuu-centric (at least that I had posted) so I kind of forced him into this one. Sorry, Fuu. *cowers in corner while Fuu hunts me down*

The monetary unit _jin_ for Xing is not canon. If Amestris doesn't use marks, Xing doesn't use yuan. _Jin_ is the Chinese word for gold. Anyone have a better idea? I haven't even seen anyone use an alternative in a story. Ah well.

Reviews are, as always, much appreciated. *bakes more cookies*

*reluctantly hands mic to IvyShort*

*reluctantly hands Sunarose cookies* That was beautiful. I only had to beta a tiny bit.

*non-reluctantly eats cookies, bows*


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